The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-20 16:42:16 -

The iron bars of the cell were cold, but the air inside was thick with the scent of wet wool and old fear. Elias Thorne sat on the straw mat, his hands bound not by rope or chain, but by a silence that felt heavier than the stone walls surrounding him. He had been here for three days, or perhaps three years. Time had lost its linear quality in this place, the Victorian prison of Blackgate,...

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